


Oboedire

by ambiguously



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:45:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/pseuds/ambiguously
Summary: She orders. He obeys. It makes their complicated life together much less complicated.





	Oboedire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akaparalian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/gifts).



Kanan has that look again. Hera doesn't have to wonder why. Ezra is less moody about this year's birthday than he was when he turned fifteen. He has closure about what happened to his parents, and that's eased some of the pain he's been carrying all these years even replaced as it has been with grief. Ezra isn't the only one who has bad associations with Empire Day, though. This isn't a birthday party, it's a wake, awash in old sorrows as well as new. Ezra will make peace with the two ghosts who have haunted him since he was a little boy. Today, Kanan is surrounded by hundreds of the same as he tries to ignore the buffeting waves of his own past for the sake of being an anchor for someone else. He's reeling, even if none of the rest notice. She notes every twitch he hides, every dark moment that washes over his eyes and recedes.

Everyone needs an anchoring point.

"We'll take Governor Azadi back to Lothal," Hera tells the others, and watches the team accept her orders easily. She's been in charge of the crew since before they had a crew, but up until a few months ago, had she asked Zeb, Sabine, or Ezra who their leader was, they'd have pointed to Kanan. Kanan knew better, has always known better, and has been more than happy to take her orders, even her order to act like he was in charge.

A plan forms in Hera's mind. "I'll fly the _Phantom_. Now that we have the hyperdrive, the Empire won't be expecting us to come back in the smaller ship." Chopper rolls towards the hatch. "Chop, you stay here in case we need to get the _Ghost_ away in a hurry. Kanan, you're with us. We'll meet up with the fleet as soon as we're done."

Ryder says one more round of farewells to the team while Hera stows two days' worth of supplies aboard, and they're off. Hera is still getting used to the new engine on her shuttle. She trusts Quarrie's work. She also takes a little breath as the ship goes into hyperspace, part of her convinced they'll fly into atoms.

Two carefully-calculated hops later, they're in orbit. Both of her passengers have mixed emotions on their faces as they look out at the planet. Ryder didn't want to pick up the fight, but here he is. Even if she hadn't spent a lot of the last few years learning to read human faces, she can tell he's unsure about the decision.

"Any resources you need, you just have to ask," she tells him as she brings her ship in. "We ran a good ground game when we worked here. I can give you contacts and as much advice as you're willing to hear."

"I'd appreciate that."

She doesn't call out the expression she sees on Kanan's face. She isn't sure he knows what he's feeling, either. Back when they were looking for a base of operations, he was the one who picked this little world. She trusted his instincts. Something about Lothal keeps drawing him in, and they've come back again only having just left. Even as the ship touches ground, he takes a breath, like he's making a connection with the grass beneath them and the air around. For a moment, the pinched, anxious look he's been wearing around his eyes today soothes into something she can't read at all.

Ryder offers them the chance to stay for a meal, which Hera declines. "Thank you, but we have to get back."

"We could have stayed," Kanan says after they've said goodbye and closed the hatch.

"No," she says, her tone sharp now that Ryder isn't aboard to hear her.

Kanan startles at the change. "Or maybe we can't."

"I didn't give you permission to speak."

It takes him a moment to catch on, his own hard reply about to burst out before he sees her face. Hera isn't angry. She's firm. Kanan sits back in his seat without another word, hands folded in his lap. She can tell he has questions as he notices their flight path isn't to orbit but instead takes a long arc north heading to one of their old hideouts. This used to be a perfect spot to park the _Ghost_ , far from prying eyes or Imperial patrols. She sets the _Phantom_ down neatly, anticipating the same light gasp as before, and he doesn't disappoint her. She wonders if he even knows he's doing it. She wonders if he has any idea why. Her questions have to wait. This isn't about curiosity. This is about the shadows in his eyes.

He can decide he's not interested in playing today. All he has to do is say so. Hera researched the intricacies of this game when they first began, finding in her HoloNet queries a host of complex sexual contraptions and even more complex rules others had set up for themselves, involving codes phrases and baffling light systems. "Stop that" and "No" have been sufficient for the two of them from the start.

Kanan stays silent.

Atmospheric conditions outside are brisk. Light snow patters the tops of the mountain cones rising from the ground, the same cones that confuse the Empire's sensors when their satellites fly past this part of the planet. They'll stay inside, she decides, and flicks the internal lights to low power. Enough to see by, even as the light is fading outside, not enough to intrude. As a last thought, Hera switches on the outside polarizer. She doesn't think they'll be observed by anything other than the birds and the wild lothcats, but why take the chance?

Kanan doesn't look at her as she gets out of her chair and removes her gloves, placing them on the seat. Interesting. When they've played this game in the past, he's pushed his boundaries as far as she'll allow. This time, she hasn't given him permission to look at her and he won't until she does. Either he's learning, or he really needs this as much as she suspected.

She won't say his name again until they're finished. She doesn't know for sure which name he considers his own during this set-aside time. He's been Kanan to her since the day they met. The one instance when she growled his birth name into his ear while he was buried bollocks-deep inside her, he came so hard he screamed, then couldn't look at her for most of the next day until Hera apologized. His relationship with his own past is complicated. That's the reason she brought him here today of all days. Comfort comes from making things uncomplicated.

Leaving him to sit, Hera opens the storage space. She packed food, including a few extra meals in case they were delayed when they got here. She brought their gear for the same reason. She could pass off the bedrolls for that purpose too, although as soon as she'd stowed them aboard, she'd caught Sabine's knowing look. Hera has already sent her a transmission that the two of them will meet up with the rest tomorrow, and knows Sabine won't be surprised.

Sabine didn't see the rest of the supplies.

It's not much. The natural state of her crew has always been one step above flat broke, making barely enough from the jobs they pulled to fill the fuel tank and stock the galley. The Rebellion doesn't pay any better. But the two of them have been together a long time, and there have been occasions when they had spare credits warming their pockets at the right time standing in front of the right vendor stall.

Her fingers slide along the links of a fine, silvery chain. She grabbed this on a whim, shoving it into the carrier with everything else. They haven't used it in, well it's been just over a year, now that she thinks back. Ezra wandered into her cabin the following day before she'd had a chance to put everything away. Thank the Force that they were dressed, that Ezra believed her when Hera had said the chain was part of an upgrade for Chopper she was tinkering with, and that he didn't question why it was attached to the ceiling.

She affixes one end to a small eyering in the _Phantom_ 's ceiling. The soft click makes a muscle twitch in Kanan's cheek. He knows that sound.

He wants to ask a question. She won't let him, not yet.

She measures with her eye and adjusts the length. "Stand up."

He stands, still not making eye contact. His gaze rests at her right shoulder. She had to train him out of staring at her chest when he's not allowed to look at her face. Hera thinks over her plans. "Remove your shirt. Fold it. Gloves too."

A momentary smirk passes over his face before it vanishes under the cloth. Kanan shrugs the shirt off his wrists and puts it in order, smoothing away the wrinkles as he folds it neatly, setting it aside before he pulls off his half-gloves and sets them atop the fabric. Hera enjoys the view of his exposed skin without a smile.

"Come kneel."

Here, Kanan has a distinct advantage. He spends a lot of his free time this way even when she's not calling the shots. She's found him knelt in meditation in the middle of ship's night, spending the whole sleep cycle in mid-trance, body resting comfortably in a position that would leave most other humans sore and cramped. That serves Hera's purposes. This has never been about pain. They have both suffered enough not to seek out more.

As soon as he's on his knees, Hera wraps the thin, black leather around his neck, feeling the warmth of his pulse jump against her hand as she snaps the clasp. She places her left palm against his shoulder as her right hooks the loose end of the chain to the collar, wanting to feel the tight shudder that runs through him at the sound.

"Hands behind you." He obeys, clasping his fingers together. She likes the way the muscles in his arms move.

She guessed right on the length. Kanan can move his head a little but otherwise he's held in place. The chain is crafted of unbreakable yet thin duranium links. There's a failure point in the collar's clasp, and another on the end of the chain affixed to the eyebolt in the ceiling. If there's an emergency, he can pop either and be free. They've never run into an emergency during one of these times, but it would be just their luck for a squad of stormtroopers to come across them now.

Hera will personally gun down the entire squad if they do. This is her time, their time, and she won't abide interruptions.

"You may look at me," she says, running her hand down his jaw.

Kanan's face doesn't tilt to see her, but his eyes flicker up through his eyelashes, the pupils darkening his deep greenish-blue to almost black. It's a good look, one of her favorites. She pats his cheek.

"Remove your pants. Keep your shorts on."

Stripping to his underwear is more difficult from where he's kneeling, which is the point. He likes being given little tasks to please her, especially ones which are harder to perform while he's bound in some way. She's ordered him to clean her quarters before, or replace the emitter on her holopad under her detailed instructions. The last time he was chained in her room, she ordered him to massage her feet and decorate the nails on her toes, a process which turned out to tickle more than she'd expected. She almost kicked him in the face by accident.

She hasn't told him to fold his trousers, and he leaves them in a pile at the edge of his own reach. He settles back into position.

"I'm of half a mind to leave you here like this while I take us back to the fleet. I could hover outside the _Ghost_ and mimic a docking issue, tell them we can't board. I brought that plug. I'd order you to put it in while I've got the short-range hologram on. Everyone you know would be a few meters away, and you'd be here on your knees barely out of sight."

Kanan doesn't move. She watches him intently, looking for the movement of fabric at his groin, but again in this, he has the advantage. He learned to control that body function when he was still a boy in the Jedi Temple, long before he willed away inconvenient erections every time Hera gave him orders in front of the crew. They've used his abilities to their advantage over the years in ways his teachers certainly never intended when imparting the lessons.

Those teachers are dead now, sixteen years in their graves, those that had them, and their student needs something solid to hold onto today. He needs guidance, stability, discipline. Lucky for him she's here.

"Remove my boots. You may use your hands."

His hands come forward, taking her left calf in a firm grip, coaxing her foot up off the deck as he holds her steady. His fingers know the fasteners well. Soon the cooler air of the shuttle sends a chill over her exposed skin. The deck is cold under her bare foot as he eases her down and raises up the right leg. This boot slides off as easily as the first, but with the cool air comes warm breath and tender lips pressed against the arch of Hera's foot before guiding it to the deck.

"I didn't give you permission to kiss me," she says, keeping her tone flat. She enjoys when he kisses her, and they both know it, but that isn't the point. "You lose a privilege."

She turns away, returning to her supplies. There's a long cloth she packed thinking she might bind his wrists together. It'll have to serve another purpose. She drapes the cloth over his eyes, tying a secure knot behind his head. "Too tight?" she asks. "Answer the question."

"No, Captain," he says. His voice is deeper than usual now, more gravel in it. Ears less familiar with the tones of his speech would believe all his usual charm is gone. Hera can hear the edge of excitement. 

"Stand."

Kanan gets to his feet, the slack of the chain puddling against his shoulder.

"Remove my clothes. Don't touch any skin."

He knows the fasteners of her flight suit better than her boots. The blindfold isn't a challenge when he's peeled her clothes from her in pitch darkness so often before. The prohibition from touching her is more difficult. She notes the hesitation as he moves, careful to slide open each piece without coming into contact when all he wants is to cover each revealed inch with soft, warm kisses. She files away the idea for next time. The best orders to give him are the ones they both like.

No kisses this time. "Good boy," she says as he finishes, then pauses. "Just set them to the side." He does, placing the orange pile next to his own clothes.

"Tell me the square root of fourteen thousand sixty six."

His head tilts. Maths questions aren't the nicest orders. For one thing, he's not very good at them, but she does have hyperspace jumps to calculate when they leave, and his brain is otherwise busy ticking over old losses. "One hundred eighteen point six."

"Very good. That's your fastest time yet."

A pleased smile moves over his face, and she strokes his cheek again.

"You like to be useful, don't you?" He nods, rubbing against her hand. "On your knees. Hands behind you."

He returns to the deck with an eager obedience, wetting his own lips with the tip of his tongue. He's expecting her to order him to taste her, and she will. This may be about him today but Hera intends to enjoy herself, too. For the moment, she paces around him in the narrow shuttle, letting the bare skin of her legs brush him as she walks, thinking. Standing behind him, she takes hold of the gathered hair, tugging with a gentle hand until his head tilts back, neck exposed. She watches the collar move as he swallows a gulp of air, and runs her fingers over the skin, past the apple of his throat and up to the brush of beard on his chin. She doesn't have to see his eyes to notice there's a distance in his manner even while she's touching him.

Hera pushes his head back upright and moves to stand in front of him again.

"Tell me what you're thinking about."

He's nonplussed. This isn't a normal part of their play. This is a question better suited to after, folded together in her bunk as they're drifting to sleep. He hesitates through his reply, "I don't understand the question, Captain."

"You do. I gave you an order."

It's a tipping point. He can stop everything now, pull the collar off, and she won't push him. They'll set a course to rejoin the fleet, or they'll bring out the bedrolls and make love here, and she won't bring it up again. He can stop whenever he wants.

She waits.

"I'm thinking I would like to lick you right now."

It's not the entire truth, but it is a truth and she'll accept it for the time being. She bends, and she kisses his head. Then she places her hands onto his shoulders, moving him to the correct height. "Use your mouth."

The order pulls him back from whatever dark, sad place he's been circling. Without his hands, Kanan has to nuzzle into her, coaxing her open with his nose and taking a deep breath. The first swipe of his tongue against her shocks through her with pleasant electricity. He's long since learned the shape of her, the folded valley and the tender pearl hidden inside, warming with her own excitement as he explores her delicately with an experienced tongue. Too much, and she'll go numb. He backs away, kissing one thigh warmly before his lips trace their path back between her legs. He wants to touch her, his shoulders twitching with the effort of being good, of keeping away, of following the order to restrain his own hands. The binding cloth would help now, removing that temptation just as the plasticoil ring she could wrap around the base of his prick would remove any temptation to come.

"Use your hands. Hold my legs." Hera lifts her right knee, leaning forward as Kanan takes hold of her, keeping her in place. Now she's spread wide in front of him, and he can't see her but he doesn't need to see to do this. His mouth presses a kiss against the tight, wet clench of her before he slides his tongue inside her.

Hera places her hands against the sides of his head, moving him away from his work to where she wants him more. Obediently, and eagerly, he returns his attention to the needy, nerve-covered bump, stroking with firm motions. "Such a good boy," she praises, petting his hair.

She wants to come. She really wants to come now. Any other time, she'd stand here, perched on one foot as Kanan brought her off. Today isn't about her, though. Her brain is slowed by the intense pleasure building inside her and ready to pop, and only with an effort does she find words to say, "Hold still. No further." She moves her knee, placing both feet back on the deck. Her legs are wobbly but that's to be expected.

She knows the query in his mind, and places her hand flat against his cheek in a slow, painless mime of a slap. "We're not finished." Even under the blindfold, even silent by her command, she knows the look on his face. He knows very well she almost was finished, thank you.

"Tell me what you're thinking."

"You were making that noise in your throat like you were close. I wanted to get you there."

"Why?"

"I like it when you come. It feels nice." He's tuned to her emotions, and has been for years. In other circumstances, she'd be disquieted with the knowledge someone else can tell precisely when her orgasms hit and enjoys the experience along with her. The frightening intimacy should concern her. Instead, she's allowed it to build more trust between them.

"You like serving me."

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Captain." But there's more in his voice. He wants to say something, but he doesn't have her permission. He wants this game to work. He knows he needs this, too. He needs to get out of his own head.

"Because I keep you safe. That's what I promised, isn't it?" He nods. "We agreed from the beginning, I will keep you safe, and you will do everything I tell you to do. Not because I need you to. I have plenty of people ready to take my orders. This is for your benefit. I enjoy what we do together, and I'm happy to continue this. You know that, right?" He nods again. She places her hand against his cheek again. "So tell me what you're really thinking about, or we're done now and we're going home."

The pause is drawn out, and he thinks he'll accept the offer out, the less painful road.

"I forgot. This morning when I woke up, I didn't remember what day it was, and I didn't think about it, didn't think about any of it, until after breakfast when Zeb complained about Ezra's bad mood. I shouldn't ever forget. I made it out alive when so many better people than me didn't. It's...." He stops, caught in emotions that spiral inside him like the strands of his own genes, and just as much a part of him.

They can have this conversation a thousand times, and the words will never change the past. Kanan doesn't know why the Force saved him when the rest of the Jedi were killed, or even if it had any say, if he's only here now, kneeling before her today, because of chance. Neither option brings comfort, the thought that he was spared for the sake of some destiny he doesn't know yet, or the thought that there was no reason at all, that the deaths of everyone he used to know were as senseless and meaningless as he suspects. Both choices gnaw guilt into his soul, and he won't forgive himself for forgetting what happened today of all days.

When they're not in the game, when they're back home, tumbled together like lothcats in her cabin or sitting together as friends in the ship's lounge, they'll talk. Hera will remind him again that scars are the body's way of healing wounds, that even the deepest sorrows ease with time, that the greatest repayment he can give those who sacrificed to save his life is to live. Later, she can give him reason.

Today, she can give him purpose.

She returns to the storage area, and she pulls out something much simpler than the rest of the items her HoloNet searches insisted she simply must possess. She brings the chronometer to him. She likes the one that ticks, even if the computer-type are more accurate. This has never been about accuracy.

Hera says, "Get yourself off. You have two minutes. Go." She presses the button, and the tick starts.

Kanan jerks. He wasn't expecting this order at all. He can't see her smile as she watches him go to his shorts and pause. "You can take them off."

It should worry her a little how fast he can strip down, but she's typically having too much fun at the time to care. In moments, he has himself in hand, stroking with an easy, secure grip. Some nights, even the nights when it's just the two of them with no roles or rules between, they'll rest next to each other this way, breath against breath, their own fingers at work. Now she watches, her eyes exploring the movement of the muscles over his face. He's still inside a bad place in his head, and he spent the time before this willing away his erection. He may not make her deadline. He has to focus on his own pleasure, has to permit himself to feel good now that she's given the command that he must, and that's going to be hard with the voices of the dead growling at him.

She holds the chronometer close to his ear, letting him hear. "Hurry up. Time's running out." His arm speeds up. She watches a glistening drop form at the tip of his cock.

At fifteen seconds before the deadline, she clicks it, pausing the countdown. "Stop." She yanks off the blindfold, twisting his head as she does. She drops the cloth and the chronometer to the deck. Kanan's eyes are screwed shut, his hand frozen in place. He's close.

"Look at me."

Kanan blinks in the dim light of the shuttle. He looks at her, trembling, awaiting the next order.

"Tell me it wasn't your fault."

He blinks at her again, confusion turning to obstinance. He bites his lips to keep them shut.

"I gave you an order. You will follow it. Tell me what happened to the other Jedi was not your fault."

He drops his eyes. "It wasn't my fault."

She tips his chin up, forcing him to look at her. "You were a child. You shouldn't feel guilty or ashamed that you survived. Look at me, and tell me it wasn't your fault, and mean it."

He drags his gaze back to her. "It wasn't my fault. I was a kid. I don't have to feel guilty that I lived." The words are rough, sad, and true.

"Good boy. Finish me now."

He hesitates, then lets go of himself to reach for her hips. Eyes on his work, hands holding her in place, he licks into her again, seeking and finding the center of her pleasure. She needs more attention to get back to where she was, but he knows her well and no one focuses as intently as Kanan does when he's attentive at a task. Within a few minutes, she's there. Hera lets go, body writhing in the sweet throes of her release as he teases her nub with thick, lapping strokes, and she lets him draw out her peak.

"Enough," Hera says, pushing his face back. "Good." She watches his expression. No smirk, only a faint smile, happy at the praise for a job well done.

She disconnects the chain from the collar. Kanan stays on his knees, not saying a word, not moving to touch himself. Finally.

Hera's legs don't want to support her, but she makes them work to get to the storage area. She pulls out the bedrolls and sets them up in the back, using both to make one large and comfortable enough for them both. He's not watching her. He's not moving. The shadows are gone from his gaze, not banished but not controlling him.

She returns to where he's kneeling, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Finish yourself."

His hand drops to his lap, gripping his own prick again. He's been at the edge for several minutes, and he tips himself over without a sound except the harsh inhale of his breath.

"Good boy," she says, and gives him a cloth to clean himself up. When he's done, she hooks her finger under the collar. Normally, she'd unfasten it as a sign they're finished for the night. Instead she tugs, and he follows the motion up until he is standing in front of her. Hera leads him over to the bedroll, and pulls him down to it with her.

There's a question in his eyes, one he won't verbalize without her permission. She shakes her head, and settles the blanket around them. "Keep it on for tonight. Sleep."

He obeys.


End file.
